To say that Alfred has complex feelings about his family's... chosen activities, is an understatement. He knew what it would mean, when he pledged to support Bruce in all he did - even this. And he will never regret the addition of new family members; never believe that a child brought into the family was a poor decision. But vigilante work... it is dangerous. Frightening. Traumatizing. And so many of this family has trauma to spare, before they even set upon this path.

So every incident is... difficult. Every injury, every brush with death, every new trauma. He's no stranger to patching wounds, soothing fears, chasing away nightmares. It doesn't get easier. And while he would never entertain the idea that within this family was not the best place for every one of its members to be, he does wish, sometimes, that this crime-fighting life had not been thrust upon you all. That his family could just have... normalcy. Safety. Peace.

Now is one of those times. Oh, you had been such a beacon of light and cheer. A ray of sunshine in a family so accustomed to darkness. That light still flickered, surely - you were still you, always. But a bad incident with Fear Toxin had... dimmed it, significantly, for the moment. And that was painful to see.

You'd lost so much of your voice, and in a literal sense. Selective mutism flared up at even small stressors. It was recoverable, he knew - with time, support, love and care. But there were no guarantees, and the idea that you might never fully be yourself again... it stung.

But Alfred's job is to support this family, and never is it so needed than in times like this, when one of you is struggling, impeded. If this is how he honors his pledge, he does so gladly and without hesitation.

"Good morning," he says warmly, as he sets a full plate in front of you at the table. The man always seems to have a meal ready at a moment's notice, even when you're up earlier than usual. "I do hope you slept well." It's not an idle statement. Nightmares are not uncommon in this house.